


kitchen sink

by Carmailo



Series: Voltron One Shots [13]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Laith, M/M, Save them, basically they're adults and stressed, its okay they talk it out, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-03-30 19:22:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13958316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carmailo/pseuds/Carmailo
Summary: “It’s about this,” Lance says, lifting a hand to gesture around the room, “it’s about all of this.”“So,” Keith says, “how do we fix it?”





	kitchen sink

“Keith,” Lance says, trying not to let his irritation get to him, “can’t you clean the dishes?”

“I did last time,” Keith replies, still in the other room. “Or I think I did. Did I?”

No. Keith didn’t clean the dishes last time. Lance did. And the time before that.

Lance grits his teeth. It’s not Keith’s fault. He works long days, so he’s bound to forget. “No, Keith, you didn’t. Mind at least helping me?”

A moment passes in silence between the two, the only sound coming from the television, some sports game playing.

“I’m coming,” Keith says slowly.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Lance says quickly, suddenly wanting to be alone. He doesn’t want to wash the dishes with Keith if Keith doesn’t want to.

“No, no,” Keith insists, but Lance can tell he _really_ doesn’t want to. “I’m comin’.”

A sudden annoyance flares up in Lance, and he scrubs at the dish in his hands with a little more force than necessary.

“You wash and I’ll dry?” Keith suggests, padding into the kitchen. He reaches for the towel.

Lance nods, making a short noise of agreement.

“Hey,” Keith says, sliding into the space next to Lance, “what’s wrong?”

Lance works long days, too.

“Nothing,” he snaps. “Why?”

Keith furrows his brows. “Because you seem upset.”

“I’m not.”

“You _are,_ ” Keith says.

_Acusses._

“I’m not!” Lance exclaims, dropping the plate. “I’m perfectly _fine_.”

Keith frowns. “Hey,” he tries, but Lance interrupts.

“ _Stop._ ” he demands.

Silence falls between the two of them, and Lance only hesitates a second before starting to wash the dish he’d dropped again. Once it’s clean, he holds it out for Keith. Keith watches Lance with a frown on his face, taken aback by his outburst. Lance shakes the dish a little, so Keith takes it and dries it, paying careful attention to detail. Lance washes a mug as Keith dries the plate, and once he’s done, he carefully hands it over, being heart-wrenchingly cautious so as not to touch Keith.

“I’m sorry.” Keith starts, “I’ll remember to wash the dishes-”

“It’s not about the dishes!”

The spoon falls from Lance’s hand with a clatter. Chucking the sponge into the sink after the spoon, Lance puts a hand on either side of the sink and relies heavily on them to hold himself up.

“It’s not about the dishes,” he says again, defeated.

Keith stays quiet, waiting for Lance to continue. He’s completely lost - the dishes, while not a big deal in reality, are a reasonable thing to get upset over - Lance _is_ under a lot of pressure at work. But if that’s not the case, then Keith has no idea how to resolve the issue. What else could be bothering him?

“It’s about this,” Lance says, lifting a hand from the sink to gesture around the room before putting it back down heavily, “it’s about all of this.”

Keith’s frown deepens. He still doesn’t understand.

“We’re not married, we live in a shitty little apartment, we’ve got more than enough money to get by but not enough to move, we have jobs that drain _everything_ out of us, but we keep them because we’re too scared to move from what’s comfortable and the pay is only keeping us thinly cushioned, but a thin cushion is still better than no cushion, so we’ll keep what we have and not complain.

“It’s- I _hate_ it. I hate coming home and seeing you passed out on the couch because you were too tired to even make it to the bedroom. I hate waking up and you’re already gone, or you’re asleep at the table with your breakfast barely touched in front of you. I hate when you stumble through the door you just kick off your shoes and go to bed. I hate that sometimes I have to leave and you’re asleep, and as much as I want to say bye, I can’t stand the thought of waking you. I hate being asleep when you come home. I hate not being able to wake up at the same time as you every single morning. I hate that we have to keep on insisting that it’ll work out. It’s been almost two years and we keep expecting things to just _get_ better.”

Lance turns away from the sink, sliding his back down the cupboards on his way to the floor. Keith follows a second later.

“I hate this fucking tile, too,” Lance sighs, dropping his head onto Keith’s shoulder.

Keith laughs a little at that, but otherwise stays quiet. He’s tired, Lance can tell.

“I’m sorry,” Lance sighs, “I didn’t mean to get mad at you. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s okay,” Keith forgives, “you’re stressed. I get it.”

There’s a part of Lance, a small, teeny tiny, absolutely horrible part of Lance that sort of wishes Keith wouldn’t give way so easily. A small part that wishes Keith would yell back, because that would mean he isn’t as drained as he actually is. It would mean that the fire that usually burns bright in Keith’s chest isn’t just a few hot embers right now. Because Lance wants to feel something other than the exhaustion that’s plagued him the last little while. And horribly, he’s willing to feel cheap rage at the love his life.

“So,” Keith sighs, “how do we fix it?”

Lance lifts his head away from Keith and stares at the wall farthest from them, eyes lidded and mouth relaxed into a frown. “I don’t know.”

How do you fix two low-status jobs and two dysfunctional people trying to work things out?

Keith watches Lance carefully before slumping against the counter and staring dead ahead at the wall in front of them. He sighs tiredly.

“Do you think we should break up?” he asks, but there’s nothing but genuine question. Keith’s asking just as he might ask _are you taking the bus today?_ \- the same way he’d ask _do you think we should get cake or ice cream?_ on one of the rare occasions they’re grocery shopping together.

Lance sighs. “I don’t know. Do you? Would that even help?”

Keith shrugs. “I don’t want to,” he says, “but if it’d help you then I’d do it. If it’d help us both, then I don’t really see any reason not to. There’s no saying that we’d never get back together again.”

Lance hums in agreement. “But I love you, so much,” he murmurs.

“And I love you, too. I don’t think anything could ever change that.” Keith draws his knees to his chest.

“Mhm,” Lance agrees.

They’re quiet until Lance sighs again. “I’m so tired I can’t even remember to show you how much I care about you.”

Keith drops his head onto Lance’s shoulder and Lance twines their fingers together. “I know,” Keith agrees, “it’s the same with me.”

“I’m sorry, Keith,” Lance says, staring at the contrast between his skin and Keith’s, “you deserve so much better.”

Keith lets out an honest-to-god snort, “I could say the same to you. And I’m sorry, too.”

“Look at us, just a couple of real sorry fucks.”

“I’m not a fuck,” Keith disagrees pointedly.

Lance laughs out loud, feeling some of the mysterious tension in his chest lift.

“C’mon,” he says, “let’s get up.”

“Okay,” Keith says, making absolutely no moves to stand.

Lance grins, biting back a laugh as he gets to his feet, He smiles down at Keith before leaning down to take his hands and pull him up. Standing at level with one another, the two lock eyes as an understand forms between them. They stare before shifting into a hug.

When they pull back, Lance leaves his arms loosely around Keith’s neck, and Keith leaves his around Lance’s waist. “What if we just blow off work tomorrow and spend the day together?”

Lance laughs again, dropping his head on Keith’s shoulder. “That’s one of the best ideas you’ve had, like, ever.”

“I know,” Keith boasts, but he’s smiling softly.

“Dance?” Lance asks. “I haven’t danced with you in forever.”

“Okay,” Keith nods, letting go of Lance so he can play some slow song off his phone’s tinny speakers.

A song that Keith doesn’t recognise starts playing, and Lance comes to stand in front of Keith, placing both arms loosely around his waist and pulling him close. Sighing, Keith lifts his arms and puts them around Lance’s neck, reaching far enough so as to diminish as much space between them as possible.

They don’t _dance,_ per sé, not in the fancy ways that Lance has taught Keith to.

They just sway together, moving as one in the comfort of their little kitchen.

And… it’s okay. It’s good.

Suddenly the pile of dishes in the sink doesn’t seem so big.

**Author's Note:**

> my heart hurts today
> 
> you're loved, okay?


End file.
